Chapter 3: What the Blue Cup Meant
I looked at Cassandra.
She looked back at me without flinching, and that steadiness was worse than guilt would have been.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"A little while." She set the blue cup on the counter beside her.
"I came to check on things."
"Check on things." I kept my voice even because Mia was still pressed against my shoulder.
"Cassandra, the police broke down the door.
My daughter was locked in a room."
"Mom didn't lock her in." Her chin lifted slightly.
"She was resting.
The chair was so Mia wouldn't wander and hurt herself."
Officer Grant had come back inside.
He stood near the kitchen doorway and said nothing, but he wasn't leaving either.
"A chair wedged under the handle from the outside," I said.
"That's not a safety measure.
That's a lock."
"You're twisting it."
"I'm describing it."
Mia shifted against me and made a small sound, the kind she makes when she's trying to go to sleep but can't settle.
I rubbed her back and kept my eyes on Cassandra.
"Where is Lorraine right now?"
Cassandra glanced toward the window.
"She had an appointment."
"What appointment?"
A pause that lasted one beat too long.
"I don't know the details."
Officer Grant stepped forward.
"Ma'am, we're going to need your mother's contact information and the name of the attorney she met with this week."
Cassandra's jaw tightened.
"I'd like to call someone before I answer any more questions."
"You're welcome to do that," Grant said.
"But I'd ask you to stay in the house while you do."
She took out her phone and walked toward the far end of the kitchen.
I watched her turn her back to us and lower her voice, and I thought about every time Jackson had told me I was being unfair to his family.
Every dinner where I had apologized for things I hadn't done.
Every morning I had handed Mia over at this door and told myself that my discomfort didn't mean anything was actually wrong.
Jackson came back in from outside.
He looked at Officer Grant first, then at me.
"They're not going to file anything," he said.
"This was a misunderstanding."
"Jackson." I kept my voice low.
"Your mother locked our daughter in a room and told her I wasn't coming.
Then she left.
And your sister was here the whole time and didn't call me."
"She was going to call you —"
"When?"
He didn't answer.
Officer Rivera appeared in the doorway behind him, holding a small evidence bag.
Inside it was a folded piece of paper.
He held it up so Grant could see, and Grant nodded once.
"Mrs.
Callahan," Grant said, turning to me, "is this your signature?"
He showed me the paper through the bag.
It was a single typed page, and at the bottom was a signature line.
The name printed beneath it was mine.
Emily Callahan.
But I had never seen that document before in my life.
I looked up at Jackson.
Something moved across his face — not surprise.
May you like
Not confusion.
He already knew what that paper was.
